


Untitled ST:XI Ficlet of Ridiculousness

by Rubynye



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-05
Updated: 2010-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tattoofic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled ST:XI Ficlet of Ridiculousness

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [This is Jim's NSFW tattoo](http://ursulav.livejournal.com/1377829.html). I suppose I should tell Ms. Vernon I spontaneously wrote a story about her artwork.

  
After about a seven-count, Jim levers his face up out of the pillow, plants his elbows beneath himself, and starts over to ten. When nothing keeps on happening except for some rather shallow, shocked-sounding breathing, he cranes his neck to look over his shoulder and inquires, "You stroking out back there, old man?"

"No, Jim," says Spock-the-less-grumpy-elder, as Jim privately likes to think of him, his long Vulcan hands framing Jim's ass as he peers down at it like he's going to say 'fascinating' any second now. Jim kind of likes being stared at -- he works hard to make sure his ass, and the rest of him, are worth looking at -- but until a few moments ago there was all sorts of being stripped of clothes and pushed flat into the pillows and being kissed a lot going on, and he liked that a bit more. So he hums inquisitively, and clenches his glutes, and Spock-the-elder sets one dry warm forefinger on Jim's right buttcheek and says, "I am unfamiliar with this adornment."

Which one is that one -- right. Jim can see enough of the rounded orange cockhead to remember the winged phallus he got tattooed there. He wasn't even drunk, either, though now he can't remember why he thought it was a good idea.

Whatever, it's still a conversation piece, even if the conversation is about how he's not this Spock's original Jim. "I couldn't tell you," Jim says, shrugging, about to theorize on the possible body art of a version of him he'll never meet, trying to swallow that smidge of resentment at the everpresent comparison.

Spock cuts him off anyway. "Nor do you need to," he says, and his voice holds an ocean of warmth. "It is greatly aesthetic and suited to your personality."

Jim starts laughing at that, until Spock kisses him right on the tattoo, and up the small of his back and further, warm presses up the length of his spine until he finds himself moaning as if he's forgotten how to talk.

_   
**Untitled ST:XI Ficlet of Ridiculousness, rated R**   
_


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